


softly, in vain

by pro_se



Series: softly, in vain [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 01:50:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12877623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pro_se/pseuds/pro_se
Summary: But what if Vane was kind before the pirate life took him?





	softly, in vain

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: rambling prose. also have you ever seen vane's outfit? did he Intentionally slice his coat up to show the shirt underneath? charles why

Vane had left the memory of your first kiss together when he used to be clean-shaven, with hair slicked away from his face, and the responsibilities and duties of a commissioned privateer still lined his lips and smiles.  _ The ocean life was fine,  _ he tells you while the two of you stroll along the docks, _and_ _ just fine. _

You trust Vane and his intentions, but not his words. Already in the quaint town  _ Ranger _ often visited every few months, you had heard rumors of his ruthlessness. As if flying under the British flag, while avoiding its abstinate rules for local and international waters, it’d granted Charles permission to entertain a more sinister ego.

The first time  _ Ranger _ crested the horizon and docked at the local harbor, Vane grasped your character--a vague memory from the past, an excuse to talk to someone who knew his name-- and since, he hadn’t been shy to visit you nor the town. Vane, by all accounts, was a gentleman in a port city of less than three hundred citizens. Any foul practices or manners would not be tolerated; and that’s partly why you manage to trust the russet-haired Vane.

It’s early ‘13 when the evening wind brings the shanties of approaching vessels, and goodbyes of departing ones.  _ Ranger _ was scheduled to leave by sunset, but her captain had pulled you aboard for a last goodbye. He’d a glint in his eyes as he reassures you about his inevitable return. “For the drinks, of course,” Vane professed as an afterthought. The tavern boasted cure-alls for both hangovers and sobriety with alarming potency.

“For the drinks, of course,” you echo cheekily. “And none of the company.” His hand, resting on the small of your back, tenses slightly.

“You despise drinking,” Vane says, mouth twisting in a wry smile.

“Tch. It offers no honor.”

Vane doesn’t fight you on this long-standing debate, and instead turns his gaze on the hustling crew. “Thank you for the company,” he tells you. “Even with the eyes of the town on my back, I truly enjoy being with you. Perhaps you would consider traveling to the Indies on  _ Ranger _ .”

It’s an empty offer. You know you’re never going to leave this town while you have roots and ties; Vane knows he’s much too invested in ravaging the seas. The number of times when you both were on dry land and in the same town is sparse.

He keeps talking anyways. “You would enjoy the weather, I think. Havana is loud but pleasing to the eye.”

“Charles, I--”

Then he’s swiftly kissing you on the lips, a little too hard, a little too rushed. A little too unfamiliar.

You’re completely caught off guard. With his heavy frame sinking over you, you seize his wide coat lapels and think of waves crashing on the beach; you shut your eyes and let him kiss you. As quickly as he’d crushed his mouth to yours, Vane breaks off and stares with dawning horror in his sea-glass eyes. A few strands of his dark auburn hair fall down to his face.

“I--” he swallows hard. “I beg pardon.”

He’s still so close to you; it would be ludicrously easy to kiss him a second time. The shock on his face remains to be explained, however, and you only release your grip on his heavy coat. You’d never seen Charles Vane swept off his feet by his own ministrations; but then again you’d never seen him in company of lovers, lasting nor passing. Was he playing an act of bashfulness, or naivete?

Before you can demand an explanation (or an encore, you think, wetting your lips), Vane seizes your wrist and escorts you quickly away from  _ Ranger _ . Tonight, the docks are quiet and you two stray to the far planks in parallel dazes. All the while, Vane mutters pardons and griefs for his impulsiveness.

“Are you apologizing for kissing me?” you finally ask, unable to contain the incredulity in your voice.

Vane flushes.

_ Oh, Christ. _

“I did not mean to offend.”

“Charles,” you say gently, and place a hand on his arm. He stiffens automatically. “Charles, you lose no favor with me. Besides, you would not be the first to steal a kiss.”

“I did not--” Vane falters.

“What?”

“I did not want to steal.”

_ I did not want to steal _ , says the privateer who makes a living by robbing merchants and waging war on the calmest ocean days, so says the gentleman slowly strangling the Caribbean with his coarse voice, and his steel will and blades.

Vane was not an unkind man, but he could become one.

Your hand slides from his arm, and press against his chest. It’s a tender gesture, meant to be comforting. For you, or for him? Vane settles a callused, soot-stained hand over yours, and begs forgiveness with a gaze that so often drops to your lips. “I’ll miss you,” he says quietly.

“Won’t you come back?”

“Absolutely. But it does not take away from the fact,” Vane says, “that I will miss your presence.”

“Then, I suppose the kiss was something like a souvenir.” You pause, and add, “A stolen memory.”

You just barely glimpse a cold anger in his eyes in response your teasing remark, but you can’t stop yourself, stepping forward and silencing him with a kiss.

If it had been a second later, you would have reconsidered the vileness in his once-repentant eyes. Then his body and arms speak warmth, drawing you in for a proper embrace, and it’s much too late. You tilt your head and delve deeper in his mouth, tasting wine or something just as sweet.

Vane moans and rocks his hips against yours, fingers digging into your jawline and scalp. He slips from you, breathing hard, eyes shut tight. “I wish I didn’t leave tonight,” he groans. “Or I’ll take you with me.”

“You know I can’t leave,” you whisper. “Not ever.”

“Not yet.” Vane slowly opens his eyes. No trace of malice or annoyance with you.

You wish he’d stay this way forever. He’s not the first mariner whose soft eyes changed to match the violence of living on the seas, and he won’t be the last. It’s only ideal that Vane becomes something other than the kind gentleman you’d learned to trust. You press one more kiss to his lips, just one more kiss that’s gentle and sweet and something like him.


End file.
